Memories of a White Rose

The industrial microwave oven warmed up with a wheezing sound, like a groan of pleasure from the depths of hell. Indeed, if there ever was such a place of terror, it was close: the cellars of the Tyrell Pyramid reached deep.

Grimes' blank shark eyes studied the gauges with complete concentration, ignoring the body bag of black rubber lying at his feet. The vague shapes of a face could be divined through the rubber: the face of a ghost, the face of Glenn Mironova.

* * *

A white rose, living, breathing, trembling. The flower opened its fragile petals to capture the elusive light of dawn slowly, slowly, while galaxies were given birth and death; the death of time, the birth of eternity. And then the vision faded like morning mist in October…

Glenn Mironova opened his eyes slowly; although soft, the light made them ache. Walls the soothing colour of summer green with Mayan reliefs in gold. A vague smell of disinfectants neutralised by synthetic lavender. Slow, deep breathing - a machine. He was lying in a large bed, the softest cotton against his skin. Mironova realised he must be in one of the Pyramid's Class-A hospitals.

Trying to understand, trying to get grip of reality - in vain. He felt lonely, lonely as the last man on Earth, wandering through the winter wastelands after a nuclear holocaust.

"Visitor," said a computerised voice softly, softly.

A shadow towered over him: obsidian black hair and eyes the colour of a fading summer sky. A smile that probably was meant to be reassuring, but only conveyed anxiety. Byron. Byron Joseph.

"Glenn, can you hear me?"

He nodded slowly in response.

"Don't be alarmed, Glenn. There's been an accident, but you're life is not in danger. You've been taken to the core hospital."

He didn't answer; he couldn't.

"If you're feeling confused, it's no wonder. Two hours ago, during a MinuteMiner experiment, you got exposed to a Rhemus field. Don't worry, though: you haven't received any serious neural damage. But you will experience lingering effects of disorientation and possibly also slight amnesia for the next few days. Doc says it's nothing dangerous."

The anxious smile once again. Mironova nodded.

"They say you'll have to stay here over night," Byron continued, "but you can probably get back to work within a couple of days. Everything will be fine, just fine."

Mironova closed his eyes. Something was wrong, he could feel it. The Rhemus field must have damaged his brain, and Byron must be lying in order to calm him. That must be it.

Wrong. Something was wrong.

* * *

The candlelight reflected in Eldon Tyrell's trifocal glasses, making him look diabolically insectoid. There was a soft, almost tender smile on his bloodless lips. He watched the two men on the monitor like a father watches his children.

"A brave new world awaits you, my son. A world of wonders you wouldn't believe."

Date: 2003-02-23 14:50